Between the Shadow and Soul
by DandelionBurdock
Summary: A recently orphaned Halia Potter begins school at Hogwarts after spending sixteen years in the Department of Mysteries. A certain Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is tasked to look after her, and discovers that they are connected in ways even he could never have imagined. What could possibly go wrong? Fem!Harry, Prof!Tom, Soulmate AU
1. Chapter 1

Greetings! For those of who that read my previous fic, 'Between the Shadow and Soul' under my other pen-name (AvinaNox), this is a _**very different**_ rewrite - which I fully intend to stick with! I didn't want to pick this back up until I was sure I had the bandwidth to do so. :) I'll probably delete the other version around the time I post Chapter 2 of this one.

Just a couple of notes:

1\. This story is pretty AU - Not all of the characters will be playing their canon roles in this story and I've shifted around timelines quite a bit to make everything work. If this gets confusing at all, feel free to PM me and I'll be happy to clarify as best as I can without giving away any spoilers. ;)

2\. Please review! Both encouragement and constructive criticism are much-appreciated. If you are a fellow fanfic writer, you know how meaningful and important it is to receive feedback on your work.

3\. Anything you recognize belongs to our dear JKR!

Thank you for reading!

* * *

_"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved: in secret, between the shadow and the soul." - Pablo Neruda_

-xx-

"You know, I think I'm really getting the hang of this." Sirius grinned at her like an optimistic, but endearing dog waiting for a bone.

"Yeah, s'great," Halia forced a smile in return while gnawing through the overdone cut of meat, "It might be the best so far." The latter statement wasn't a lie, sadly. The bar for meals in Sirius' home had been set pretty low, beginning several weeks ago with her sixteenth birthday 'cake' that was improvised with the ingredients of his very limited pantry. It turned out that all those years of bachelor living didn't bode well for Sirius' culinary skills, but he _was_ doing his best to make her feel at home all summer…And it was rare to see him in such a good mood these days.

He took a swig from his pint of stout, a bit of foam clinging to the hairs around his mouth. "I know it's going to be hard at first, Halia, but you're going to have a brilliant time at Hogwarts. Just wait until you see Hogsmeade, go to your first Gryffindor Quidditch match–"

"Dad used to take me to matches all the time, you know," Halia flicked a slightly soggy chip in his direction.

He stuck out his tongue at her. "Well it's different when you're actually a student and it's your House."

She shrugged, supposing that was true, but Gryffindor already felt like her House anyway. Her parents and nearly all of their friends had been Gryffindors – there was no doubt she belonged there. Plus, she thought she had always looked nice in red.

"I know you're not one for books, but I think you'll like most of the professors there too. My gods, I'll never forget the time James and I tricked Binns into thinking –"

He dove into the recount with a boyish expression, and normally Halia would have loved to hear it. But her stomach was too full of nerves; at this time tomorrow, she'd likely be settling into her Hogwarts dormitory and life as a sixth year. And the prospect of having to adjust again, when she was just beginning to feel comfortable living in Sirus' flat, filled her with dread. She felt too emotional, which she knew was understandable…But feeling that way around strangers, far from the few she still trusted, would be uncharted territory.

Halia pushed her food around her plate to make it look like she'd eaten more while Sirius finished his story and hurriedly stood to clear her place before he could get a good look at it. "I think I'm gonna go finish packing and then run to the mini-mart for a couple things." Namely, to replenish her stash of Muggle snacks. Though naturally lanky thanks to her father's genes, she had grown even more reedy since moving in with Sirius and recently began supplementing his rather lackluster meals with plenty of crisps and sweets.

Sirius paused the devouring of his steak for a moment. "I might tag along if you don't mind, could use some –"

"Ladies' things," she blurted out. "I need to, uh, pick up some ladies' things."

Unsurprisingly, the excuse worked.

"Oh." Sirius' face turned scarlet beneath his scruffy beard and he quickly averted his eyes from hers.

She was already halfway upstairs when she called back, "See you later, and thanks for dinner!"

It was definitely one of the more relaxed meals the two of them had shared over the past several weeks. Ever since _it_ happened, their usual banter had largely shifted to awkward silences. It became all too clear that they had no idea how to interact with each another within the new circumstances. It had been lonely summer, though often better when Remus, Tonks, or the Weasley's were around to serve as a distraction.

She swung open the door to her temporary bedroom, jumping with a sharp gasp when she saw a figure sitting on the foot of her bed, and calmed only slightly when she recognized him as Regulus.

He had apparently been waiting for her, and had taken the liberty of leisurely paging through a photo album that was on top of her pile of unpacked belongings. He looked up at her with a slightly amused look as she hastily shut the door and cast a silencing charm on it.

"What exactly are _you_ doing here?" she glowered at him as her heart rate slowly began to even back out. "You know Sirius is already bloody pissed that you were at the funeral – do you have any idea how he'd react if he knew you were in his flat?"

"Not at all," Regulus scoffed, "What exactly would he do about it?"

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. _Brothers._ "You didn't answer me – what are you doing here?" She snatched the photo album out of his hands and tossed it into her trunk.

After all, how dare he look through it given what he put her through?

"Just thought I should check on you before you're off to school in the morning. It'll be the last time we see each other for a while."

"Oh, what a shame," she snapped.

His face remained impassive as he stood calmly. His features echoed many of Sirius', as did his frame. But Regulus lacked the charismatic warmth his older brother always seemed to radiate. His gaze met hers and she noticed that the ever-present dark circles under his eyes seemed a little bit darker. "So. How are you doing, Halia?"

"Fine."

He looked at her with doubt and, without warning, reached up to brush her choppy, improvised jet black bangs to the side of her forehead. "Your head looks a little better at least."

She scowled, swatted his hand away, and re-tousled her bangs over the jagged red mark that now graced her forehead, which she desperately hoped wouldn't be permanent. "It still hurts like hell."

"It'll get better," he sighed. "I'd be happy to snag you a Pain-Relieving Draught from the Department that would help in the meantime..."

Halia shook her head and began packing the few belongings she brought from her parents' home into her trunk. "Trust me, Regulus, I don't want _anything_ from the Department. They've already done more than enough to…_help_ _me_, right? Isn't that what they called stealing at least half my memories? Is that going to get better too?"

"Your memories weren't stolen, Halia. You know there wasn't any other choice. Your parents _knew_ this was a risk. If it was up to Rookwood alone, you would have been Obliviated completely and sent to live with your Aunt and Uncle Dursley. Can you imagine? _Muggles_," he added bitterly.

Halia shuddered at the prospect. Thankfully, she had only met them during a few short holiday visits; they were truly awful. Case in point: her Aunt Petunia didn't even bother to show up at her own sister's funeral.

She knew he was right, deep underneath the anger that swirled inside her like a disease. She knew she was lucky that they let her remember anything at all, and that none of this was actually Regulus' or the Department's fault. But she had to channel her rage at _something _– or some_one_. It was too much right now for her to try and wrap her head around the reality that there wasn't anyone to blame…There wasn't a real reason at _all_ that her parents died, or that she survived instead of them.

Her eyes felt wet and she briskly rubbed her arm across them. The number of times she had cried since the day it happened could be counted on one hand…mostly out of fear that if she started, she wouldn't be able to stop. So she gritted her teeth until her jaw ached, and only when she knew she was at least temporarily past the danger of falling apart, asked Regulus, "Why did it have to be you who did it?"

The fact that the procedure had taken so much from her, yet didn't block out her memory of that day with Regulus seemed almost intentionally cruel. The clammy air and stark white walls in a tiny room that she assumed was within the Department of Mysteries still felt incredibly vivid, and reminded her of the Muggle horror films her mum sometimes liked to watch. She remembered the searing pain as Regulus performed a type of magic she did not recognize to extract any memories that could leak information the Department deemed as 'classified'. She remembered feeling violated by the magic, and by Regulus who she once trusted implicitly.

She rubbed the mark on her forehead which throbbed more than usual, as though it had been strengthened by her recollection of when she received it.

"It was my idea to try it instead of Obliviating you," Regulus admitted. "So if something went wrong, it would have been on me."

The mark burned hotter and sharper as she tried to take in his words. "And you're sure nothing went wrong?" she clenched her eyes shut and gritted her teeth again.

"No." The word was said just above a whisper, but it rung through her ears. He brushed his fingertips on the tip of her shoulder and hesitated. "Good luck at school, Halia. And be sure to write." Then, with a sharp crack, she was alone once more.

-xx-

There was once a time that being seated under such close scrutiny of Albus Dumbledore would make his insides writhe – a time before he mastered Occlumency. But that seemed so distantly behind him as they lounged across each other in the Gaunt family manor's spacious, candlelit sitting room that had been restored to its historical grandeur.

"Did you have an enjoyable summer, Tom?" The Headmaster asked lightly before taking a sip of tea that contained at least three sugar cubes.

"Quite," in unison, Tom sipped his own tea, black and bitter. "Though nothing particularly notable. I've done a fair bit of reading on some of the more obscure magic in ancient Greece..."

It was all part of their usual game: Albus pushed, and he deflected. Sometimes, he would even pretend to show a piece of himself to the old fool. But of course, all of it was a façade – steps of a delicate dance that allowed Tom to maximize his autonomy in his Hogwarts teaching position. Though to his displeasure, the Headmaster had an incredible knack for deduction that was nearly impossible to evade entirely.

"Nothing in the way of travel, then? That's unusual for you, Tom," Dumbledore's blue eyes sparkled over the top of his glasses.

"It was a quiet summer," he responded lightly, "I did attend a few dueling competitions with Bella, two of which were in France."

He wasn't about to mention the real reason he largely stayed confined to the Gaunt manor during the break from Hogwarts – a feeling that had caused him a great deal of dwelling, but still remained indescribable in its entirety. It was a sort of paranoia, a foreboding feeling almost as though something in the world had shifted. Normally he'd brush it away as a mere side effect that came with dabbling in less than legal forms of magic: a wise paranoia that kept him cautious and hidden.

But even Nagini had been feeling strange, too.

Thankfully, for once, Dumbledore didn't press for further details of his reclusiveness. "Ah, yes – and how did the lovely Miss Black fare?"

"She was the champion in her class in all but one, due to a slight technicality," Tom smirked proudly, remembering the 'technicality' that left her competitor hospitalized in St. Mungo's for a week's time. Bella was bold and had no semblance of restraint – she was never afraid to show too much, unlike him. Restraint was probably one of the greatest skills he learned from _his_ reckless years at Hogwarts. But Bella learned from a young age that repercussions for Purebloods were practically nonexistent – and he often couldn't decide if he admired or detested her for it more.

Dumbledore smiled, apparently genuine. "Bella has always been a talented witch – though I am well aware that you've taught her a great deal." The Headmaster's eyes flickered to the top of Tom's bookcases which were lined with dueling trophies and medals from his brief years as a professional duelist. "Do you see yourself competing again in the future?"

"Likely not," Tom shrugged and waved his hand to wandlessly refill Dumbledore's teacup. "As you know, I prefer to teach."

It was only a fraction of the truth. Tom loved dueling, and his winning streak at every championship he'd entered had provided him an amount of wealth that had been unfathomable in his destitute youth. It turned him into somewhat of a minor celebrity, paving at least part of his way into the ranks of Purebloods who no longer had a choice to ignore him. And when the _Daily Prophet_ 'leaked' his intentions to apply for the vacant Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had no choice but to hire him – the fit was too perfect, and the wealthy donors of the school would have been outraged if the Headmaster had botched the chance for their children to train with the legendary Tom Riddle.

"Then I suppose you are looking forward to returning to Hogwarts, as am I. That brings me to the topic of my visit – I trust you've heard the news of the Potter's?"

"Of course." Tom may have been reclusive that summer, but ignorance on the subject of the Potter's was nearly impossible despite the Ministry's very apparent attempts to release as little information about the deaths as they could. Every day that passed brought at least one new conspiracy theory, usually published in _The Quibbler_. Not that Tom wasted his time reading such trash, of course, but Bella often informed him of the latest gossip.

Tom could vaguely remember James and Lily from his first year at Hogwarts, when they had been Head Boy and Girl, though nothing particularly notable about them stood out. James Potter seemed to be a quintessential Gryffindor in every meaning of the word – which is to say that Tom, and the rest of the Slytherins didn't care much for him. The two of them married and went on to become Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries. He assumed they were high-ranking; it was atypical that a married couple would serve in the Department together, and even more unusual that they had a child. More often than not, Unspeakables didn't have families _at all_ due to the secrecy required for the job.

As for their deaths, it seemed fairly reasonable to conclude that some part of their job had gotten them killed, which is precisely why the Ministry refused to release any relevant information, citing instead an ongoing investigation that was 'priority number one' for even the Minister himself.

"A tragedy," Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "James and Lily were two of my finest students – they thrived at Hogwarts. It was truly a second home to them, not unlike it was for yourself."

"Hogwarts was my _first_ home," Tom responded, perhaps a bit too bitterly. "But yes, a tragedy – one can only agree."

"They had been home-teaching their daughter, Halia…However, their wills stated that she should attend Hogwarts were anything to happen to them," Albus continued. "So as you may have assumed, she will be joining the Sixth Year class this term."

Tom nodded. Given that James and Lily Potter had so adored Hogwarts, it seemed rather odd that they elected to home-teach their daughter. But perhaps that had been some part of some agreement with the Department of Mysteries. Perhaps they thought it would be best for her safety.

After all, there were surely those who believed she knew more than she probably did…And while nobody could torture or pry information from an Unspeakable (if that was possible, Tom would have already done it a hundred times over), it would only take one loony conspiracy theorist hellbent on revealing the Ministry's secrets to give it a try. It certainly wouldn't be the first time, and some might see her as far more vulnerable than the typical Unspeakable.

Dumbledore must have been thinking along the same lines because he leaned forward in Tom's dark green velvet armchair and said softly, "You can imagine, Tom, that given the circumstances, the outside world may not be a particularly safe place for someone like Halia Potter." The Headmaster stroked his long, gray beard again. "I was hoping that you might provide her teachings on the subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts in addition to the Sixth Year curriculum so she can more quickly learn to protect herself."

At first Tom wasn't sure how to respond. He learned to think twice when Dumbledore asked for a favor – it was never _just _a favor. But of course, refusing would also be seen as suspicious.

"If you have too many obligations this term, I could surely ask Severus to assist…" Dumbledore began as Tom hesitated.

"That won't be necessary," he replied casually, "I can train the girl."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in apparent happiness – or was it in triumph? "I do appreciate it, Tom."

-xx-

Her palms grew sweaty as they passed the barrier of the secret platform at King's Cross and, for the first time, she saw the sprawling Hogwarts Express in front of her. Her heart pounded loudly at her chest in fear, but also excitement. This was it – a new beginning. Perhaps more importantly: a distraction.

Though, tempting, the thought of being distracted also frightened her. She didn't want to let go, or stop clinging to the memories of them that remained – what if those were taken away from her too? After Regulus' visit, it seemed entirely possible that the Department would change its mind and completely wipe away her memory after all. It seemed sensible to make an effort to dwell on the moments she still could, but it was making her pretty damn sad and miserable at the same time.

And _holy hell_, the mark on her forehead hurt lately – almost as though the Department was warning her not to get too close to the past.

The train whistle blew, her signal to find Ron and Ginny's compartment and get settled.

"Have a great term, Halia – we'll see you for the holidays," Remus gave her a hug. "Tonks couldn't make it today, but she wanted me to give you these…"

Halia peered in the velvet bag that boasted the familiar logo of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to find four Skiving Snackboxes and she beamed up at him.

"…You know, in case you're not feeling up for Potions once or twice."

"Ah, that reminds me!" Sirius exclaimed, reaching out to pinch her nose. "You better give 'ol Snivellus hell for us." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Remus casting him a mixed look of disapproval and amusement. "And you better write."

"Of course. Have to give Hedwig a reason to leave the grounds sometimes," Halia grinned and held up the cage that contained the beautiful white owl Sirius and Remus had gotten her as a going-away present.

Remus, then Sirius, each gave her a fierce hug goodbye, and she started toward the train, tossing one last wave over her shoulder before boarding.

Soon after, she settled into the plush red compartment where Ginny was already lounging with a few of her friends from Gryffindor, Ron, and a girl named Hermione who she'd heard about from Ron but hadn't met before that morning. It was odd, to see Ron and Ginny surrounded by friends Halia had never met when she and her parents had visited the Weasley's – especially when she noticed the near-constant banter between Ron and Hermione.

A strange feeling of jealousy tinged her insides, not because she was interested in him (Halia had a crush on him at one time for _maybe _all of five seconds when she was only eleven or so), but because she felt like such an outsider. It had never occurred to her until then that she didn't really have any close friends her own age…at least not like this. She felt out of place and slightly self-conscious, but the feeling quickly began to dissipate as Ron made some crude comment about the cover-witch on Ginny's copy of _Witch Weekly _and Hermione and Halia exchanged a look of mutual disapproval.

"Anyways," Hermione cleared her throat in annoyance, "Which NEWT levels will you be taking, Halia?"

"Well, they signed me up for, let's see…" she counted off each course on her fingers. "Potions, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes…"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Aren't those the same NEWTs you're taking, Hermione?"

"They are," the bushy-haired brunette eyed Halia with a similarly surprised, and also slightly curious expression.

"I never took my OWLs," Halia explained, "But those were the courses Headmaster Dumbledore suggested and he said we would rearrange things if they aren't a good fit. I haven't looked at the books for each _that_ much, but I have a pretty strong feeling I'll be dropping Arithmancy and Ancient Runes from what I saw."

"Bloody hell, if only _I _didn't have to take any OWLs last year…" Ron combed a hand through his bright ginger hair.

"Well," Hermione ignored him with another eye roll and gave Halia a small smile, "Ancient Runes and Arithmancy are both _fascinating_ courses, so I'm happy to help catch you up if you want."

"Sure," Halia grinned, "That'd be great."

Maybe she'd be feeling like less of an outsider sooner than she thought.

They chatted a bit more about courses before Ron changed the subject to Quidditch, and then Ginny began teasing him about a neat, prim-looking girl named Lavender Brown that paused by the compartment to give a flirty hello to Ron. It wasn't much longer before Hermione gasped that she and Ron were supposed to have started their Prefect rounds two minutes prior and dashed out.

"If we don't see you until the Sorting, here's hoping for Gryffindor!" Ron called back to her while following Hermione out of the compartment.

"Here's hoping it's not too mortifying to get sorted alongside all of the first years," Halia muttered to Ginny.

But of course, it was.

She was already a tall for a girl her age. But among the prepubescent first years, she felt especially awkward and lanky. It didn't help that they kept glancing up at her with curious expressions, surely wondering if one of their fellow eleven-year-olds happened to be a half-giant.

_Come on, come on…let's get this over with_.

She crossed her arms and waited impatiently while the Sorting Hat bellowed a lengthy tune, and then began sorting the students around her in alphabetical order. Halfway across the hall at the Gryffindor table, she spotted Ron and Hermione and he gestured at the empty spot next to him that they had apparently saved for her.

Finally, when it was her turn, she climbed the stairs toward the old tattered hat and Professor McGonagall placed it on her head.

_'How many kids have gotten magical lice from you?' _she couldn't help but wonder.

_'None, Miss Potter, thank you very much.'_

It shouldn't have surprised her when the Hat responded, but it did. At least she managed not to jump too noticeably.

_'Now let's get to work, shall we?' _it whispered in her ear. '_Yes, I remember your parents well, so full of brilliance and courage. You are so like them…'_

_'Gryffindor already feels like home to me.'_

_'…but so different as well. You have something they didn't - a bit of darkness, yes. But do not be afraid Halia Potter, not all darkness is evil. You would learn the difference in a house like Slytherin.'_

_'Slytherin?! What are you on about? There's no way…I'm a Gryffindor, I know it!'_

_'Ah, and if you continue to believe that, you may never discover who you truly are.'_

_'I already know who I am,' _Halia thought back angrily,_ 'I know where I belong – and trust me, you ratty old hat, it's not Slytherin.'_

_'I'm simply not convinced, Miss Potter. I have decided'_

_'Fuck off. Seriously? Is this because of the lice thing?'_

_'My, my. A mouthy little serpent girl, aren't you?'_

Before Halia could think of any further obscenities to think back, the Hat's voice erupted in the Great Hall, "_SLYTHERIN!"_

She was frozen in shock, as the rest of the hall seemed to be. She glanced at Ginny and Ron and saw their expressions turn from confused to horrified when McGonagall raised the hat from her head and they realized it hadn't been a mistake – a reaction that did little for her confidence.

What would her parents have said? They were so proud of the fact that they were Gryffindors. What would Sirius think?

"You're a shoe-in for Gryffindor," Sirius told her that morning over the last coffee and burnt toast breakfast she would 'enjoy' in his kitchen for a while. "But you'll be fine anywhere so long as it's not Slytherin." It was clear when he stuck out his tongue that he meant it in his typical, light-hearted way…but still.

_This is such absolute shit._

"Miss Potter," McGonagall gently touched her shoulder, bringing her back to reality. Halia swore she saw a flicker of pity in the woman's stern face. "You may join your housemates now."

She nodded, feeling strangely outside herself as she stiffly raised from the stool and drifted over to the Slytherin table. A sparse applause followed from the rest of the hall who were clueless as to the great tragedy that had just unfolded on her.

When she reached the Slytherin table, which feels like an eternity later, she decided to sit as far from the only face she recognized, the insufferable Draco Malfoy. But she could feel his pompous, icy blue eyes on her during the rest of the ceremony and could picture the satisfied expression he must have – as though he had fixed her sorting himself. She expected it grew all the more smug when Dumbledore introduced her officially as a new sixth year student during his welcome speech to the school and she was forced to stand and give an awkward little wave to hundreds of curious eyes.

_'It's just the first day',_ she took a deep breath. '_It'll get better'._

But not before getting worse, apparently, because as soon as the introductions and ceremony were finished and the feast began, Draco and his posse approached her. With an outstretched hand and smirk on his lips, he said, "Welcome to Hogwarts, Halia. Slytherin is _honored _to have you."

"Wish I could return the sentiment," she replied crisply and ignored his pale hand.

He scoffed in amusement and gestured to the small crowd around him. "This is Pansy." A girl with a stylish brown bob and a sour expression, who had been very audibly smacking bubblegum, blew a bubble popped it with a loud snap. "See Pans? Told you that you'd still be the hottest witch at Hogwarts."

"You were right, Dray-baby," She kissed him on the cheek, her smirk mirroring Draco's, and narrowed her eyes at Halia.

_Oh my gods…'Dray-baby?' What is this fucking nightmare?_

"I told you not to call me that," he hissed at the girl quietly, but not quiet enough for Halia not to catch and then cleared his throat. "This is Crabbe and Goyle." Draco waved his hands dismissively toward two rather pudgy boys on the other side of him. They both responded with a small nod in her direction without quite meeting her eyes.

"And this is Tracey and Milly," Pansy jerked a thumb at two makeup-caked girls behind her. "So tell me, Potter – who did your hair, a toddler?"

"Must have been the same toddler who did your makeup," Halia snapped.

Pansy looked at her dumbly for a few moments. Clearly, she wasn't used to being talked-back to. "Ugh, come on Dray. She's fucking _weird_. Let's go," she said eventually.

The table around her was silent as Halia turned and began dishing food on her plate, not that she was particularly hungry for any of it. But she would eat, if out of spite and to pretend she was unfazed more than anything else.

"I can't believe you just _ignored _them like that," a girl whispered on Halia's left.

Halia shrugged, feeling self-righteous. "Draco's just a spoiled twat – what's he going to do about it?"

"Well, he and Pansy are Prefects…"

"So I'll lose some House points? Wow, poor Slytherin," Halia scoffed and in between bites of mashed potatoes asked, "Why are you so worried, what'd they do to you?"

She was met with silence in return from the girl, which didn't bode well given this was the first apparently bearable person she'd met in Slytherin. Halia glanced at her out of the corner of her eye an saw that she was quite pretty, with long straightened blonde hair and flawless skin – the sort of girl that Pansy would probably target out of jealousy alone.

"Sorry," Halia turned to her fully and gave her a small smile. "It's been…an interesting day. You are?"

"Daphne," the girl looked relieved that the question Halia originally posed was no longer hanging in the air. "Daphne Greengrass."

The name sounded familiar – partially because it was Pureblood, but for another reason that she couldn't quite place…But Halia didn't even _bother_ trying to remember things like this anymore. They were always there in her mind, just out of reach. Taunting her. It was better not to even try.

They continued talking during the multi-course feast, and Halia learned that Daphne was a fellow sixth year, who then introduced her to Astoria, Daphne's younger sister, and a couple of boys sitting a few feet down on the benches – the grim-faced Theodore Nott and a long-lashed boy named Blaise Zabini, also sixth years.

On the other side of Zabini and Nott, she could hear Draco speaking boastfully, "You wouldn't believe some of the things he brings up in meetings with my father – did I mention before that my father's the Chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Directors? Anyway, in my opinion, the old man is _completely_ unfit to be Headmaster."

Halia smirked, doubting very much that Draco's opinion was actually his and not just his father's. She glanced up at the center of the staff table where Dumbledore was seated and feeding a brilliant red phoenix pieces of mince pie from his hand. Perhaps she was biased because of her own parents' opinions of Dumbledore, but she couldn't disagree with Malfoy more. The Headmaster seemed to be both the wisest old man she'd ever met, and spiritedly youthful – she certainly liked him, though she hadn't spoken to him much. He was kind to her at her parents' funeral, and told her that her mum had been one of his dearest students.

Halia scanned the table near Dumbledore and realized she knew very little of the Hogwarts staff besides him. There was McGonagall, the no-nonsense witch she met briefly before the Sorting, but everyone else was only vaguely familiar from visits with her parents to Hogwarts during Quidditch matches and the like. Halia nudged Daphne with her elbow, and asked her to describe the other staff members.

"Well," she gestured to the far end near the Gryffindor table to a witch who looked like she'd smoked far too much Gillyweed, "there's Trelawney, Professor of Divination –"

_No surprise there._

"- Sinistra, who teaches Astronomy, and Flitwick…he's Head of Ravenclaw and teaches Charms –" Halia saw a regal looking witch with high cheekbones (a stark contrast to the aforementioned Trelawney) followed by a bearded goblin. Then a pair of witches with cheery, round faces, Burbage and Sprout.

"You know Dumbledore and McGonagall obviously –"

Halia's gaze passed the center of the table and moved closer to the side of the Hall they were seated on.

"Then there's Snape, our Head of House –"

Ah yes, the infamous Severus Snape that Sirius had told her so much about. He certainly looked the part of the villain he seemed to play in all her godfather's stories, though she couldn't remember her mother or father mentioning him much…as if that meant anything given that half of her memories were gone. He had long, thin black hair that fell flat around his sharp features, the most prominent of which was his long hooked nose.

"And Professor Riddle," Daphne's voice turned into a near-sigh when she mentions the man on Snape's right, and it was easy to see why. Riddle looked surprisingly young compared to the rest of the staff and provided a substantial contrast to Professor Snape, with whom he was engaged in some sort of discussion. Where Snape's face had sharp edges in all the wrong places, Riddle's had them in all the right ones. Then again, she supposed anyone who sat next to Snape would seem incredibly attractive.

Her gaze lingered on him. He seemed familiar, though she could not place where she had met him before. "What does he teach?" she asked casually as the dark-haired professor smirked at something Snape apparently said and raised a silver goblet to his lips.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts. He was a professional duelist before."

She nodded – perhaps she just knew him from the papers her father would read.

"He's a strict grader but also a Slytherin alumni, so we usually end up with decent marks at the end of the term," Daphne was gazing up at him too through her long, dark lashes. "Try not to worry too much if you get a 'Troll' on your first paper."

"Don't tempt me," Halia grinned impishly, "I wouldn't mind a detention or two with him."

He must have felt their staring, because the moment she said it, his eyes seemed to catch hers and she immediately averted her gaze to her plate, heat spreading across her pale cheeks.

"You're absolutely mad," Daphne gasped in disbelief and then began giggling uncontrollably. "I've heard people say he can read minds, you know."

"Well you could have mentioned that," Halia was suddenly _very_ focused on her slice of meat pie, but couldn't help but crack a smile and laugh along with Daphne.

After dinner, they migrated to the dreary, wet dungeons that would be her new home and entered the Slytherin common room. To her relief, the common room itself was far cozier than the outer halls and boasted two huge white marble fireplaces, tasteful green accent rugs, and an array of stylish, yet comfortable looking furniture.

Then again, what else did she expect when around three-fourths of the school's donations came from Slytherin parents?

There was a painting of Salazar Slytherin above the main fireplace, and Halia paused before it while Daphne wandered up to the dormitory they'd share (regrettably) with Tracey, Milly, and Pansy. Slytherin slowly noticed her with his dark intimidating eyes and wordlessly nodded toward her in a strange gesture of amusement and recognition – as though he knew how upset she was to be there.

"Go to hell," she muttered under her breath and followed Daphne upstairs. When she arrived, the other girls were already absorbed in the tabloids they were flipping through on Pansy's bed, taking turns caking their faces with WonderWitch overnight masks. All but Daphne, of course.

Halia felt bad for a moment, wondering if by bonding with Daphne at dinner, she would damn the girl to be a Slytherin outcast like Halia would surely be. But Daphne seemed to brighten when she saw Halia, and after casting a hesitant look in Pansy's direction, she strode over to Halia's bed and sat on the edge as she began to unpack.

"I just wanted to say…" Daphne started, her voice just above a whisper, "I'm sure you don't want to talk about it, but I'm sorry about your parents. My father saw them around the Ministry sometimes…she said they seemed nice."

Halia froze. It was the first time anyone mentioned her parents all day, and though she should have been prepared to discuss them, she quickly realized she wasn't. "Thanks," she muttered, unsure how to respond.

"I won't bring it up again," Daphne put a hand on her arm and looked at her solemnly. "I'm sure there are too many people already who want you to talk about it."

The sincerity and understanding in the words startled Halia and her vision suddenly grew blurry and wet. "I think I need to get some sleep," she turned away, but managed a smile in Daphne's general direction.

"Okay," the Slytherin girl sounded uneasy, but didn't press her further.

Halia stripped to her underwear and wrapped the warm blankets around herself and closed her eyes. Everything felt surreal – she was at Hogwarts, in _Slytherin,_ no less. She could so clearly picture the disappointed look on her dad's face if she could tell him. But her mum…her mum would see the best of things. She would have some wise thing to say, something that would have given her hope.

The mark on her forehead ached as she mulled over what her mother's words might be, and it was the first night she dreamt in weeks.

-xx-


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to those of you that have read, reviewed, followed, and favorited so far! :3 Here's Chapter 2!**

-xx-

During Halia's first couple days at Hogwarts, she was relieved to find that most of her classes appeared to be on the practical side rather than requiring a full hour of sitting around taking notes. There'd be plenty of reading and writing outside of class, apparently, and she was dismayed that she already had a few essay assignments on her plate.

The exceptions so far were Arithmancy on Monday afternoon and Tuesday morning's Ancient Runes, both which dragged on and on as her hand ached from trying to imitate the other students' furious notetaking. Sirius had predicted correctly that she would find it near-impossible to sit still in a classroom for a full hour, and her fidgeting earned her a few annoyed glances from Hermione in Arithmancy. But the Gryffindor must have taken some pity on Halia as well, because afterward, Hermione offered to share her notes. Halia was thankful, but also pretty certain she'd end up dropping both of those courses.

She enjoyed Transfigurations, Charms, and Herbology, though, so she'd likely stick with those. She would probably continue going to Potions too, even if it was more out of spite for the Potions Master that so clearly despised her than anything else. Her first class with him made it _very_ clear that they wouldn't be getting along.

It began with a brief introduction of what they would cover during that year's term and shortly after, the class set to work brewing a potion meant to enhance one's focus and attention (which she really could have used an hour before, in Arithmancy). The professor strode imposingly around the room as they worked, critiquing her classmates' work. But he seemed to be purposefully avoiding the bench she shared with Daphne – she wasn't sure he'd even so much as glanced in her direction.

It was a little surprising; he was her Head of House, after all, and hadn't said a word to her since her arrival at Hogwarts. Clearly he loathed Sirius, and probably for good reason. She could tell from the way Remus cringed every time Sirius told her a story that he was embarrassed by the way Sirius had acted – that he probably crossed some lines in their years at Hogwarts. But surely her dad didn't play a part in that, even if he was so close to Sirius. She'd never seen him be unkind to anyone. It seemed like her dad, and her by extension, were guilty by association. And that seemed a little unfair.

On the other hand, maybe he was just avoiding her because he suspected Sirius had talked to her about the past and felt uncomfortable about how much she knew. Her mum probably would have told her to give him a chance; she always thought everyone was worth at least one. Feeling inspired, Halia raised her hand and watched as he glanced over at her and turned his back toward her, pretending that he hadn't seen.

Stubbornly, she kept her hand raised and beamed when she heard Hermione say a few benches over, "Professor, I think Halia has a question."

No longer able to ignore her, he appeared in front of her cauldron, tall and daunting. "Yes, Miss Potter?" His eyes narrowed in apparent suspicion and he said her name as though it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Halia managed to maintain her confidence and asked in her sweetest tone, "Hello, Professor – I was just wondering if you there was a preferred method of stirring for this potion. I thought a figure-eight might work, but now I'm not so sure…" She knew she was correct, but perhaps showing that she respected his opinion would help matters.

He glared at her so intensely that she almost looked away. Thankfully, he turned to Daphne before her resolve broke. "Greengrass, will you please inform Potter of the appropriate stirring pattern?"

"A circular swirl," Daphne said quietly. So quietly, Halia realized, that she probably wouldn't have heard her if the rest of the class hadn't stopped to listen.

"Of course. As we all know, that is the only correct method for potions that have effects on the mind," he turned his attention back to Halia. "Now, Miss Potter…Headmaster Dumbledore did warn the staff that you may not be ready for some aspects of the sixth year curriculum. If you have questions around such elementary concepts, you might find my third year class more suitable," he added in a sneering tone.

She was momentarily stunned and felt herself blush deep red as she heard snickers from the back of the class where Pansy and Draco sat. Snape, on the other hand, looked rather satisfied – the git.

"Just because you taught everyone to do it _your_ way doesn't mean it's the only way that is correct," Halia snapped indignantly. The words escaped her mouth before she had a chance to think twice, but she was too angry to care at the moment.

If the classroom had quieted before to observe the scene, it was utterly silent now. The Professor peered down his crooked nose at her furiously. "Detention, Potter_. _Every evening this week."

"_What_?"

"I apologize, are you confused once more? Shall Miss Greengrass explain this to you as well?"

A slew of insults to throw at him raced through her mind, but she managed (just barely) to hold her tongue. It seemed very possible that a week's detention could easily turn into two weeks with someone as cold and unfair as him. "My mum taught me the figure-eight method," she replied instead. "She was brilliant at potions."

He stared at her for a moment with an odd expression she couldn't quite place. "Well," he replied crisply, "Then she was wrong. Your potion is burning," Snape turned away, just as the smell of singed eucalyptus began wafting up to her.

Needless to say, her first Potions class hadn't gone well, and she was already dreading Wednesday's double session. She'd served one of her five days of detention on Monday evening, which involved cleaning dozens of cauldrons by hand despite several spells that could have cleaned them magically within a few seconds. Of course, Snape forbid her from using any of those. Four evenings to go.

The chance she'd given him far behind her, she decided resolutely that she hated him and spent most of their lunch break the following day complaining with Ron. Hermione had planned to join them, but elected at the last moment to spend some of the free time in the Hogwarts library.

"He's usually a git," the redhead acknowledged, "But I've never seen him do _that_ before."

Halia shrugged and rolled her eyes. "He was probably jealous of my mum. My dad always said she was the best at Potions in their class."

"You might be the first Slytherin he's ever given detention to." Halia made a face, and he added, "Sorry about the whole Sorting thing, by the way…you know you can always come hang out in Gryffindor anytime."

"I'm sure I'll take you up on that," she gave him a small smile and bit into a fresh-baked roll. One perk of being at Hogwarts was definitely the food, and she was already planning to snag some to bring to Sirius' for winter holiday break. "I still can't believe that idiotic hat put me there just to punish me for _accidentally _insulting it."

"Blimey," Ron shook his head in disbelief.

"It's not all bad though. Daphne's nice, and Zabini and Nott don't seem too bad when they aren't around Draco."

"Sure, I mean you're a girl." Halia gave him a look of slight disgust, but Ron was too busy helping himself to seconds to notice. "I'm not sure about Greengrass though…" he continued.

She glanced across the Great Hall, where the blonde chatted amicably with her younger sister. "What do you mean? She seems really sweet."

"Sweet as an acid pop, maybe," Ron muttered under his breath.

"Alright, well now you have to tell me."

He leaned closer, his voice hushed and solemn. "She's always been one of Parkinson's gang. Don't mention anything to Hermione, but last year they hexed her with a Bushy-Brow hex and called her, you know. The 'm' word."

Halia shook her head in disbelief, "There's no way Daphne would be part of that. She's not even friends with Pansy."

"Maybe not anymore," Ron shrugged. "But I was there…I saw them all laughing and running out of the fourth floor girls' lavatory and I found Hermione inside crying."

Halia wasn't sure what to say. She could barely picture Daphne doing such a thing, but she didn't think Ron would lie to her either. And it wasn't as though she knew Daphne _that_ well – for all she knew, the girl could be pretending to be nice to her as part of some ploy for Pansy.

"Well. Fuck Slytherin."

"Fuck Slytherin," Ron agreed resolutely.

"Do you think Dumbledore would let me switch to Gryffindor?"

"Might be worth asking," Ron grinned, "But if you end up staying, you better not join their Quidditch team."

She laughed aloud. "I'd never play for them. I might show up to tryouts just to put Malfoy in his place – if Daddy hasn't already paid off the captain to make sure nobody challenges his spot..."

After lunch, they walked together to Defense Against the Dark Arts. She'd been looking forward to the class after all of Daphne's raving about the young professor's brilliance, and his attractiveness certainly didn't hurt matters. However, the fact that he seemed friendly with Snape did worry her slightly; hopefully the dreadful Potions Master hadn't turned him against her already.

Halia followed Ron to the side of the room where several other Gryffindors were already seated, careful not to glance in Daphne's direction. Given what Ron told her, it seemed best to try and avoid her until Halia knew more about her involvement with Pansy.

Instead she focused her attention on Professor Riddle, who looked even more attractive up close. He had a tall, slender frame, neat black hair was a shade or two darker than her own, and an angular face with a defined jaw and high cheekbones. He was even more beautiful than Zabini, who bragged that he almost didn't return to Hogwarts this year because of all the modeling he was doing.

"Good afternoon," Professor Riddle stood before the class once everyone filed in and found a seat. "As you are all well-aware, the primary goal for this class, from a Ministry educational standards perspective, is to prepare you for your N.E.W.T.s that you will take at the end of your seventh year. My personal goal, however, is to expose you to many forms and branches of Dark Magic that you've likely never even heard of…and of course, how to defend yourselves against them. What we will cover in this course will far exceed the minimum curriculum requirements; as such, you will have no issue passing your N.E.W.T.s. If you prove capable in keeping pace."

'_Holy hell,' _she thought when she heard his smooth, deep voice; even the way he carried himself – confident and graceful– was sexy. Halia was sitting almost at the edge of her chair, gazing up at him in pure fascination, when she realized he had spoken directly to her.

"Erm, what?" she responded automatically.

Professor Riddle smirked, but not cruelly. "I want to welcome you to my class, Miss Potter," he said for apparently the second time.

"Oh – uh, yeah thank you. You too," she blurted out in response.

_Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods…_she was such an idiot. _'You too'_?! It didn't even make sense. Mortified once more in front of her classmates, she heard Pansy snort a laugh from a few desks away. But unlike Snape, at least Riddle just changed the subject.

"Now then. You may have noticed that most your summer readings pertained to curses that result in severely debilitating effects on its victim such as deafness, blindness, and hypersensitivity to pain. These consequences are often permanent unless the assistance of an exceptionally-skilled Healer is immediately sought. Can anyone tell me how long this window of time is, on average?"

To her left, Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"Miss Granger?"

"Three minutes," she said proudly.

"Very good," he nodded once. "Today we're going to practice blocking various curses that are similar but slightly less debilitating."

Slightly? What did that mean?

But Professor Riddle did not elaborate further and instructed them to pair up.

Lavender Brown, the Gryffindor girl Halia met briefly on the train a couple of days prior, instantly swiveled around and asked Ron to be her partner. He agreed, and Halia glanced at Hermione, who wore a slightly annoyed expression. "Want to pair up?" Halia asked her.

"Sure," Hermione responded shortly. It wasn't clear if this was because she and Ron were normally paired up (at least this is what Halia assumed), or if it was because she thought Halia was someone likely to cause trouble as evidenced by the previous day's Potions class. Hermione _did_ seem like the type to avoid trouble.

Riddle clapped his hands once to magically move their desks out of the way and demonstrated the various options for curses and each corresponding blocking spell. The pairs of students was to rotate roles: one partner would choose a curse to cast at random, and the other would have to recognize and block it. Hermione quickly elected not to block first and they took their places in the two lines of students facing each other.

Halia missed the first two curses, narrowly jumping out of the way to physically avoid them. But with the third, she began to catch her stride. She realized she'd learned some of the curse/block pairs before, though she couldn't quite place when.

Professor Riddle wandered among them, offering suggestions and corrections to form. She could almost feel him approach her, which was incredibly distracting. But she still managed to block the latest curse that Hermione fired at her.

"Nice work, Miss Potter. Your blocking spell absorbed the curse's energy as it should," he gestured to some of the other pairs in the class, where curses ricocheted in wild colors off of the blocks. "If you were dueling– or fighting– you could learn to use it for a stronger counter-attack."

"Thanks," she replied casually, pretending she hadn't made a complete fool of herself in front of him earlier in the hour.

"Let's see how well you curse, then."

She and Hermione switched roles and Hermione was more consistent, but her blocking wasn't quite as strong as Halia's had been and didn't seem to absorb her curses. It was the first time in any of her classes so far that Halia actually felt that she was truly _good_ at something and wanted to keep going by the time they reached the end of the session.

"Thanks for being partners," Hermione smiled at her as they packed up their things; apparently whatever hesitation she had toward Halia at the beginning of class had been resolved.

"You too," Halia grinned back and began to follow her out of the classroom, but stopped when she heard Professor Riddle call after her.

"Miss Potter, may I have a word if you have a moment?"

When Halia turned back, Daphne caught her eye and winked at her.

'_Tell me later,' _she mouthed and Halia forced a smile back.

Ugh. For a while, Halia had forgotten what Ron told her during lunch. But she could deal with that later.

"Let's speak in my office," he suggested, leading her into the adjoining room. Inside, bookshelves covered almost every inch of wall space from floor to ceiling. The room was dimly lit by an intricate candelabra hanging above them and in the center of the room was a large desk made of a dark wood she didn't recognize.

Professor Riddle seated himself behind it and when she noticed the surface was meticulously clear of clutter, a brief image of snogging him on it ran through her mind. Horrified, she quickly brushed it away, remembering what Daphne had said about him reading minds.

It didn't seemed surprising that those rumors existed. He looked up at her through eyes almost as dark as his hair, a careful, analyzing gaze that made her feel completely transparent. "You've come to Hogwarts in a rather unique situation, Miss Potter."

"Yes," she responded, though he hadn't exactly asked her anything. She wondered how much of her 'unique situation' he actually knew about. Regulus had warned her to be cautious with how much she said, and that she shouldn't go around telling people that her parents hadn't exactly 'home-taught' her the way most would assume.

"As a result, the Headmaster has requested my assistance to provide you additional training to ensure that you are well-equipped to defend yourself. You'll be safe at Hogwarts, of course. But he thought it would be wise to prepare you for times when you might be unprotected by others."

She opened her mouth to protest that she didn't need _anyone's_ protection, but she thought better of it. Regulus had also warned her that the less stable of those that were curious of how close she'd been with the Department might see her as an easy target. Not that she really had anything left to reveal anyway…

"I was thinking a weekly session, perhaps Thursday evenings?"

Despite the fact that she probably wouldn't need it, she wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to spend more time around the school's most alluring professor – especially time alone…

"Sounds good to me," she replied in a tone she hoped sounded casual. "But this Thursday I have detention with Professor Snape."

He cast her a look of slight amusement. "I heard. I will inform Professor Snape that you'll be spending your detention on that evening with me instead."

'_I wouldn't mind a detention or two with him,' _she remembered telling Daphne just two nights prior at the Great Feast, and hoped to any divine beings that he didn't actually know what she said.

"Cool," she said lamely. "Well, uh, I'll see you Thursday then?"

"Yes," he flashed a smile full of straight white teeth at her. "See you then."

Damn. She didn't even know it was possible for someone to be as charming as he was. It was probably what someone like Draco strove for, but would never succeed in coming off as anything but pompous and greasy.

She had hoped that Hogwarts would provide a distraction for her – and now, she was pretty sure she found it.

-xx-

It was a quiet evening at the Leaky Cauldron. Not unsurprising - it was the middle of the week, after all. But it felt even emptier with just the two of them instead of the rowdy group of four they'd been for so long.

At least he still had Remus – the last of his true brothers. At least they could still catch up over a few drinks.

Okay. Maybe more than a few.

He raised a hand to the bartender and signaled for another round. Remus looked hesitant for a moment, probably worried about returning home to Tonks in his current state, but didn't protest. She'd probably just find it entertaining and laugh it off anyway. She was good for Remus in that way: she knew how to lighten things up when he inevitably grew heavy and existential.

"So. How's the new job?" Sirius asked as their empty beer mugs were exchanged for full ones.

"Rubbish," Remus sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. "But better than no job."

Actually, it was a bit of a marvel that his friend wasn't more bitter to the world than he already was, given how he'd been treated for a condition he couldn't even help. It was almost laughable, in a sort of sickeningly depressing way, that the most studious of the four of them hadn't been able to maintain stable employment for the majority of their adult lives. And his new position, a shop hand at Borgin and Burke's, seemed a bit like a new low.

At least he had Tonks, though Sirius knew how much self-loathing Remus dealt with over feeling he wasn't contributing his equal share to their stability. This, and his fear of passing along his condition to their potential children, were probably the only reasons the two of them weren't married with mini-Lupins running around.

He even had a chance at a small fortune before - James left Remus and Sirius a considerable chunk of the Potter family wealth, but they both felt wrong taking anything that could go to Halia instead. Remus certainly could have used it, though.

"How's WWN?"

"Glenda's still…Glenda," Sirius shrugged with a slight smile, and leaned back in his chair. His prima donna of a co-host was easily annoyed and getting a rise out of her was one of his greatest pastimes at work. Though truth be told, they were actually in the middle of a truce that began in the summer; when James and Lily were at the center of the news cycle, she seemed to take pity on him and made sure he didn't have to read a single line about them on air.

He wished she'd take on the full news brief altogether; he didn't give a shit about most of it. When he applied at Wizarding Wireless Network all those years ago, he was really only interested in hosting the music segment.

"It's surreal sometimes, how things just keep moving forward," Remus said abruptly. "You'd think that everything, even day to day life, would be completely different with all of them gone…Starting with Peter –"

"With Peter it was different," Sirius' hand tightened around his glass. "This wasn't supposed to happen – not to Lily and James."

Remus gaped at him with a horrified expression and Sirius winced guiltily. "I just meant…come on, Moony, you know what I meant...Peter was off. He had been threatening to do it for months. We sort of expected it, didn't we?"

"Well," His friend took a long drink, "We probably could have helped him more than we did."

"Maybe."

There was a long silence. "What do you really think happened to them?" Sirius asked, finally drunk and bold enough to voice the question that had swirled around in his head for weeks.

"I couldn't even begin to speculate. The only people who could are Unspeakables."

"Regulus," Sirius noted bitterly.

"Has Halia talked about it?"

Sirius shook his head. "I don't think she knows any more than we do. James and Lily would never take her to the Department. It sounds _way_ too dangerous for a kid. I don't know what they were thinking, why they even wanted to join. They could have been – I don't know, Aurors, or something."

"Also dangerous," Remus pointed out.

Sirius grunted noncommittally. If he was being honest with himself, he was a little bitter about their decision to join the Department, and about the wall that their inability to be transparent placed between and James and him.

Still…he did feel guilty for not talking about their deaths to Halia at all over the summer, even though he'd been clueless about whether she wanted to or not. She acted so inexplicably _normal _around him, after all. She always seemed to adapt quickly and take things in stride – and typically wasn't afraid to ask for something she needed or wanted. So in large part, Sirius trusted her avoidance of the topic.

Of course, he could have tried bringing it up regardless, but he was too afraid – for his own sake as much as hers. While she stayed with him over the summer, he had come to realize that he'd probably be a pretty rubbish parent.

"Have you written her yet?" Remus changed the subject.

"No…I wanted to wait until she finished her first week and settled in a bit more. You?"

Remus shook his head, "I haven't. I didn't know what to say about the whole Slytherin bit. I'm sure she's devastated."

"She'll adjust," Sirius told him with a smile meant to reassure himself and Remus at the same time. "Or, if I know Halia, she's probably already asked to switch to Gryffindor."

-xx-

"Well, he said no," Halia hurled herself despairingly onto a plush red couch in the Gryffindor common room. Over the past day or so, this particular couch had been claimed as her 'spot' and she spent most of her free time outside of class lounging there. Lounging in the Gryffindor common room was where she belonged, after all.

And she'd been avoiding Slytherin like the plague after what Ron told her about Daphne.

When Halia arrived, Hermione was curled up in an armchair with her nose stuffed in a textbook and Ron was in the middle of bantering with Seamus and Dean about Quidditch team rankings.

"Oh. You actually asked?" Hermione looked up at her in genuine surprise, her tone slightly tinged with condescension.

"I figured it wouldn't hurt," Halia said defensively – though she did feel a bit idiotic for bothering the Headmaster with the request.

"I've never heard of anyone switching houses," Dean chipped in unnecessarily and when Halia narrowed her eyes at him, quickly added, "But it would have been cool if they made an exception for you."

At the very least, Dumbledore was nice about it and seemed to like her. When she arrived in his cavernous office, he greeted her warmly and offered her a lemon drop from a large crystal bowl on his desk while the eyes of the many portraits lining the walls looked down upon her curiously. She'd only met Headmaster Dumbledore a few brief times while visiting Hogwarts with her parents for Quidditch matches, though she didn't feel particularly nervous about the prospect of speaking with him. He exuded a surprisingly approachable demeanor despite his legend and prominence. And his quirkiness probably helped a bit.

"I was hoping we might speak soon, Halia, and here we are," he smiled kindly at her. "May I ask how you are finding Hogwarts so far?"

"Oh, it's been really great," She grinned in return. "I'm glad I can experience all of the things my parents would tell me about...well, most of them."

Dumbledore gave her a gentle, knowing expression as though he predicted this was the reason for her visit. "Are you referring to their experience as Gryffindors?"

Halia nodded slowly. "I think there was a mistake during my Sorting, Sir. Well, maybe not a mistake – I think the Sorting Hat might have put me in Slytherin to spite me. Or something."

"To spite you?" Dumbledore's light blue eyes looked at her curiously over his glasses.

"I mean, I was accidentally thinking about how old it was and whatnot while I was being Sorted…I think it got insulted," she flushed a bit as a few of the paintings on the wall chuckled softly at her.

"The Hat isn't human, Halia, as human as it may sound. I can assure you that it placed you in Slytherin for a valid reason," Dumbledore looked at her in playful amusement, the skin around his eyes crinkling. "Though I am sorry to hear its decision has been distressing you so."

"I wouldn't say I'm _distressed _over it," she struggled to find words that wouldn't make her sound more immature than she likely already did, "It's just…nobody in my family was in Slytherin. I'm not sure how I'm different from them."

"Sorting doesn't always follow bloodlines, Halia. And my dear – learning how and why is the fun of it all. That's for you to discover during your time here, and I do have faith that you will."

That didn't sound very fun to her. But she wasn't about to ask for Dumbledore's thoughts on what the Hat meant by a 'darkness' within her, because that sounded...not great. Clearly, she talked herself into a corner and he wasn't going to let her switch to Gryffindor.

So, regrettably, she would be Halia Potter of Slytherin House. Suddenly, she felt very nauseous.

"I suppose," she managed weakly.

Then they began discussing her classes; apparently, the Headmaster wondered if she would find them challenging enough, which was pretty much the opposite of her problem. But it seemed wise to put off bringing up her wishes to drop out of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes for at least a couple of weeks...she didn't want to come off as whiny, after all. Perhaps by some miracle, Hermione would get her up to speed by then.

"I'm very pleased to hear that you are adjusting to Hogwarts so quickly, Halia," he told her as their conversation drew to a close and he began leading her from his office, "I imagine that it must be difficult to think of the future given the number of changes you are faced with...But we do want to ensure you have the opportunity to take each N.E.W.T. level required for whatever career you choose. I would encourage you to give some thought as to what will come after your time at Hogwarts."

"I will," she nodded, while uncertain whether she actually would.

"I hope you feel welcome to stop by whenever you'd like to talk," the Headmaster said finally before wishing her a good evening.

Later, after Dean's comment about the lack of precedence for a student switching Houses, Halia sat up straight on the red sofa and announced confidently to the others, "Well, I might have to _call _myself a Slytherin. But maybe if I keep spending enough time with you lot, Dumbledore will realize this whole thing was a mistake and change his mind."

"You are a stubborn one, aren't you?" Hermione shook her head, but a small smile tilted up the corners of her small mouth. It quickly turned into a grimace when Seamus offered Halia a puff from the gillyweed blunt they were passing amongst them and Halia accepted.

Feeling instantly much lighter and a little giddy, Halia snatched the textbook from Hermione's hands. "Dumbledore asked me to think about what I want to do after Hogwarts...and I need some ideas. So tell me, Queen of N.E.W.T.-levels, what are your big plans after graduation? Being the youngest Minister of Magic?"

"Not Minister, no," Hermione tilted her chin up. "I do believe I would enjoy working at the Ministry. Perhaps the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – not as an Auror, though. I'd rather work on policy."

Ron groaned. "Oh great, you'll be as insufferable as Percy was when he started as Undersecretary for the Wizengamot."

"At least my plans are _realistic,_" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Unlike aiming to be a professional Quidditch player."

"Oi!" Ron exclaimed and Halia, Dean, and Seamus snickered. "That's realistic – it could happen."

"Well," Hermione smirked, "Statistically speaking -"

"There you are, Ron! I've been looking _all _over for you," Lavender Brown abruptly burst into the common room with Parvati and Fay in tow. "We were going to compare notes from Charms, remember?

Amused, Halia raised an eyebrow and looked at her flame-haired friend, who suddenly scrambled to his feet. "Shit...I'm sorry, Lavender. I totally forgot."

"Oh, no problem at all," she replied, though her forced tone and difficult-to-miss glance in Hermione's direction confirmed that it apparently _was_ a problem.

"Want to come too, Dean?" Fay asked quietly.

Dean shrugged and followed suit as Ron grabbed his books and followed the girls out of the common room, telling Halia and the remaining Gryffindors that he'd see them later.

"Well," Seamus untangled his crossed legs and stood from the floor to stretch, "I'll give it two weeks before they're snogging on the regular...Wish I had a girl chasing _me _like that."

Halia rolled her eyes and took one last hit of gillyweed from him before he strode up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.

Meanwhile, Hermione had buried herself in her textbook once more, gripping the cover so tightly her fingertips were white.

"Oh my gods," Halia blurted out suddenly, "You like Ron."

Hermione's head snapped up. "_What?_ I do _not._"

Halia laughed out loud – she couldn't help herself. "Uh yeah, you do. Look at you, you're tense as hell!"

"That's ridiculous. Clearly you're too high to be thinking straight," Hermione replied snobbily.

"You know, gillyweed is _great_ when you're tense. Anyway, you can deny it, but now I know the truth," she grinned widely. "Don't worry, I won't tell Ron."

"There's nothing to tell!" she snapped in a shrill voice.

All Halia could do was laugh. It was the giddiest she felt in weeks - no, months.

Hermione's face eventually softened and she laughed a little too, before growing gravely serious. In a quiet voice, she said, "If you tell _anyone, _Halia, I will –"

"Don't worry, Granger," she stretched out on the sofa and closed her eyes, suddenly very drowsy, "I can keep a secret."

-xx-

Tom let out a sigh as he finished grading yet another third year's essay and leaned back from his desk to inspect his work. The parchment was now littered with fine lines of red ink and comments, and he concluded at the top: _'You may find that it is useful to read the textbooks that essay assignments are based upon rather than guessing their content.'_

The lack of discipline in some of the students was truly infuriating. He'd given the third year class a single assignment over the summer holiday and, clearly, even that was too much to ask. What a disgrace. He would be sure to pair up the slackers with the best duelists in the class during their next session and take great care to be oblivious if things began to go awry...

Lost in thought of how else to punish those who were so blatantly disrespectful, he completely forgot about his plans to meet with Halia Potter that evening until she arrived at his office door.

"Yes, come in Miss Potter," he waved her in and shut the door behind her with a second wave of his hand, while neatly piling the graded papers on the corner of his desk.

She approached one of the empty chairs across from him and dropped herself in it. Her movements had little grace or poise, and her appearance seemed slightly messy somehow. Or perhaps 'unpretentious' was a better way to describe it. Her long dark hair was piled on top of her head and she wore no makeup over her pale face, as far as he could tell. There was something familiar about her as well, though that was easily explained by the fact that he had seen her picture in nearly every newspaper over the summer.

She looked thinner than in the papers, bordering on unhealthy. The Hogwarts kitchen elves would certainly see to it that this was corrected - they doted on him constantly during his first year, ensuring that his nutritional deficiencies from the orphanage were alleviated.

"I was thinking we might begin by dueling," Tom began before she could initiate any small talk or pleasantries.

She looked surprised and a bit hesitant at the suggestion. "Weren't you like…a professional duelist before Hogwarts?"

"I'll go easy on you," he smirked slightly. "It will be the easiest way for me to gauge your current skill level." He already had some idea of this, of course, from the sixth years' first class with him on Tuesday and their second earlier that day. But it would be useful to understand more about her instincts with magic; and, now that it was just the two of them rather than the chaotic classroom with everyone practicing at once, he would be able to focus and better perceive her magical essence.

They faced each other and she awkwardly raised her wand as he began to count down. "Three...two...one -"

He certainly didn't utilize his full power, but he didn't go particularly 'easy' on her either. The entire exercise was meant to challenge and push her so he could see her true potential, after all.

After firing a quick and brief succession of offensive spells toward her, all of which she was able to block or narrowly avoid, she seemed to adjust to his pace and managed to send a stunning spell in his direction. Tom blocked it easily, allowing the invisible, but perceptible particles of her magical essence to disperse around him. It was an incredibly useful ability, a result of his dabbling into the Dark Arts, which allowed him to determine one's magical strengths and weaknesses. He was obviously a talented duelist already, but it made him essentially unstoppable during competition.

As he turned over Halia's magical essence in his mind, it tasted similar to the way dark red looked...but slightly muted in a way he found odd. It hinted at perseverance, strength, and resourcefulness, and he was already guessing at which spells she might try next given what he sensed.

She defended a few additional strikes he hurled at her and sent back a simple disarming spell. The impression left by her essence was stronger this time, and he was able to gather a fuller picture of it. This time, he was caught off guard by a new aspect - something about it that he couldn't quite place but should be able to, like a long-forgotten scent from childhood. A deep memory just out of reach.

At first he thought it might be a fluke, but that same feeling kept coming back again and again as they dueled. He couldn't stop noticing it after he initially perceived it.

She was doubled over and panting by the time they stopped. "I thought you were going to go easy on me," she complained.

Tom, on the other hand, could have comfortably kept up their duel for the better part of the evening. But he was somewhat impressed by the potential he found in her- albeit puzzling in some respects -and impressing him wasn't the easiest thing to do.

"Your parents taught you well," he commented as she caught her breath and walked toward him.

"Yeah…" she looked confused for a moment, which was odd. "Thanks."

"I do have some thoughts around what we will work on...but perhaps you are too exhausted this evening to continue."

"I'm not _that_ tired," she replied in a defensive tone that he found greatly amusing.

"Now Miss Potter, what sort of professor would I be if I allowed you to overtax yourself during your first week at Hogwarts?"

"I'm not overtaxed, I –" She continued to argue out of injured pride as he dismissed her from his office.

Odd that she'd been chosen for Slytherin. Just like her parents, she was really such a Gryffindor.

-xx-

"_Potter_," she heard a familiar hiss behind her just as she was about to reach the Slytherin common room.

"Yes, Draco?" she sighed and slowly turned to look at him. The dungeon's candlelight flickered off of his Prefect badge and he smirked at her arrogantly.

"About to break curfew again, I see."

Halia crossed her arms over her chest. "Yeah, I mean if you don't hurry this up I probably will be breaking curfew."

Draco glared at her, "I'm sure Snape would be interested in knowing, regardless."

"I walked straight here from Professor Riddle's office," she scoffed in disbelief and turned toward the common room, "Ask him if you're so goddamn worried about where I've been."

He caught her by the arm, spinning her around once more. "And how about last night?" he asked threateningly.

Damn. Pansy must have tattled to him that she didn't spend the night in their dormitory…

She would need to be more cautious next time she took gillyweed from Seamus – that shit was _strong_.

"How many weeks of cauldron scrubbing do you think you'd earn for that? Two weeks?" Draco looked at her triumphantly. Her hands, raw from the current week's detention, hurt just thinking about it. "What a shame, I guess you won't have any time to practice for Quidditch tryouts after all…"

So apparently he heard that she signed up that morning to challenge his position as Slytherin's Seeker – or, more accurately, to make a fool of him and then proceed to 'generously' offer him his spot back. "Ohhhh! I see...you're trying to threaten me so I don't make you look bad in front of your friends," Halia beamed at him. "That's precious, Draco. Really precious."

"No," he said coolly, his grip tightening slightly around her arm. "I just want you to understand how difficult things will be for you if you choose to be my enemy."

"I have enough friends, Draco. But thanks for the offer," Halia snorted and wrenched her arm out of his grasp. "And if Snape gives me detention every day until tryouts, so be it. I don't need any practice to beat you."

He opened his mouth to retort, but she swiftly entered the common room before allowing him the satisfaction of the last word. It was so hard to take him seriously sometimes. It was hard to remember that they'd actually gotten along quite well as children.

Her parents had been close with Minister Fudge through work, and Fudge was also close with the Malfoys through their extensive donations to his campaign. There were frequent, intimate dinner parties hosted by Minister Fudge and his wife that the Potter, Malfoy, Crouch, and a couple of other families were regularly invited to. Draco and Halia were usually the only children in attendance, with the occasional appearance of Barty Crouch Jr., who was quite a bit older than them and pretty weird. Her dad even made a point to tell her to stay away from him.

Halia learned later that her parents didn't care much for the Malfoys either, but had been clueless at the time. She didn't interact with them much – Lucius largely ignored her like he ignored Draco. Narcissa was sometimes kind to her, but always seemed a little disturbed that Halia didn't seem fascinated by things like jewelry or stylish clothing.

While the adults talked about boring things and ate opulent, sophisticated food that Halia rarely enjoyed, she and Draco would explore the Minister's large mansion or fly around the grounds playing mock Quidditch matches.

Their friendship solidified when, during a special party around Christmastime, they were experimenting with their magical abilities and Draco accidentally broke a small statue that was a gift to Fudge from the Minister of France. Halia took the blame, only because she'd seen how harsh Lucius was to Draco sometimes and she was afraid for him. Draco warmed to her quite a bit after that, and would often bring her extra toys or presents that his parents got him and he didn't want, or already had one of. Eventually, she started to see him as a brother of sorts, as they were both only children and she knew so few others her own age.

Everything changed when he started at Hogwarts and presumably felt the pressure to make a name for himself– or live up to his existing one– for the first time. They became distant as he bragged about Hogwarts and his new friends, while his arrogance and ego grew like an undying weed. She could never quite bring herself to hate him, though. She knew the boy she'd been so fond of was buried somewhere deep down underneath all of his irritating attributes.

Halia made her way up to her dormitory, relieved to find Daphne already asleep. She knew she would have to confront her eventually, but avoidance seemed to be working for the time being…

She curled up in bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin. Thinking of the past with Draco reminded her of what Professor Riddle said to her earlier that evening: "Your parents taught you well."

She felt a surge of happiness at the compliment, hoping that he actually meant it. Dueling with him had been exhilarating, and she was certainly looking forward to her next session with him.

But his words kept cropping back up in her mind, eating at her as she drifted off to sleep.

"_Your parents taught you well."_

Did they?

That night she dreamt of Regulus in the Department, but not in the cold white room that sent shivers of dread down her spine at the thought. They were in a room as big as the Great Hall, with a long stage in the center. And on the platform she and Regulus danced on opposite ends, their wands sending mesmerizing, swirling waves of red, green, gold, blue, and black toward the other.

-xx-


End file.
